A ball of paper sailed through the air, striking Adcock in the shoulder. “You aren’t exactly fluent in Bulgarian yourself, there, Ad. And I make no pretense of being the best codebreaker. I’m a pilot. That is why, if you’ll recall, I’m useful to you.”

Adcock snorted and sent the missile back to Camden. “Well, from what I hear, Old Ziv goes beyond most of us. You were the czar’s best, weren’t you?”

Zivon shook his head and stood again, gathering the papers. “That was Popov—my superior, head of the division.” But Popov had trained him. And then trained him to take over, though the Revolution put a halt to all those plans.

Camden took his chair again, brows arched with challenge. “That’s not the story the admiral tells. For that matter, it’s not the story that giant hunk of ruby on your finger tells.”

Of its own accord, Zivon’s gaze flicked to the ring he was inadvertently flashing as he clutched the papers.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for the story about that, Marin.” Adcock leaned back in his chair, clearly not minding a bit of distraction so early in the day. “Family heirloom? Gift? It must be of sentimental value for you to have kept it during your escape rather than pawning it.”

The very thought of pawning it made something hot boil up in his veins. The anger wasn’t aimed at the codebreaker, who he knew was only teasing, but at the situation that had forced him into a position where it could even be an option. “I could never.”

Camden’s grin was every bit as teasing and mocking as Adcock’s had been. “Because . . . ?”

Zivon sighed. He hadn’t intentionally decided to keep his past a secret from these new colleagues—he’d simply fallen into it. But just as he’d shared his running with Clarke that morning, perhaps it was time to offer more of himself here too. “It was a gift from Czar Nicholas. Before the Revolution. Popov had told him of my work. To show his appreciation for my service, the czar invited me to dine at the palace and presented this to me as a token of his esteem.”

“There, see? I knew it had to be something like that.” Leaning an elbow onto his desk, Camden let his smile relax into something purely friendly. Or mostly, anyway. “As Adcock said—the best. Unless he gave every cryptographer a ring in thanks?”

How long had it been since he’d had the leisure of bantering like this with colleagues who understood him? Too long. He grinned back. “No. Or if he did, they did not wear them to the office.”